


Vitamin K

by fourfreedoms



Series: The Incompetent Matchmakers [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Hand Jobs, M/M, beating the washington capitals made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 19:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: They spill out into the cold night air, street quiet but for the occasional car.Jonny turns toward him and they’re in each other’s space again, Patrick blinking up into Jonny’s eyes. “You want me to call it?”Jonny interrupts him with a sharp nod and reaches out, fingering the knot in his tie before running under the silk to stroke along his collar. “Your place,” he says, answering Kaner’s earlier question. “We’re closer.”The 1988 POV of what happened in Great News. Or that time Jonny and Patrick got together because they scored 10 points together.





	Vitamin K

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I write a lot of fics where Jonny and Patrick realize they’re in love because they beat the tar out of the Caps! Also, I’ve gone renegade and started using my own nicknames for these guys, because what they come up with is dumb. 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to turningterrific, who was instrumental to this existing. She handheld me the entire way. (So it's her fault if you don't like it...just kidding). Also thank you to on_reserve for initially giving me the idea to begin with. Now I'm gonna go, like, eat dinner or something.

It starts because neither of them can hardly believe that goal off of Orlov’s miscue in front of the net actually went in and the way Patrick can’t stop himself from chirping Jonny about the padding it adds to his stats when they award it to him. 

“When you gonna pull your weight, Tazer?” he says as Jonny squeezes in next to him on the bench. 

The look of outrage Jonny shoots him is worth its weight in gold. “You scored off of my assist earlier, jackass!” 

Patrick takes a swallow of water and grins. “Better late than never.” 

At the beginning of the third, Patrick scores again to widen their lead with a text-book perfect wrister off of Jonny’s cross-ice pass. He can’t help cellying extra hard to rub it in. 

Jonny gracefully waits until they’re back on the bench to say, “Yeah, so, uh, who was primary on that?” 

Patrick shrugs with a wicked smile. “I dunno, some guy.” 

Jonny rolls his eyes and swats at him. “Oh, some guy, yeah okay.” 

Jonny pots his own second goal only a few minutes later off of Patrick’s feed, and when Patrick skates over with a whoop, Jonny raises a brow that spells out ‘what now, bitch’ better than any way he could speak it. It and the way he smoothly rearranges his facial expression into a pleased grin when Dolly and Jules skate up only makes him laugh harder. 

Nevertheless, Patrick’s lit a fire under his ass, and they’ve been making magic all night. When they’re back in the danger zone with Washington nipping at their heels, Jonny hammers home yet another with a beautiful deke around Orlov, who is not having a good night. In typical Jonny fashion, his reaction is understated, especially for netting a hattie, and Patrick can’t help giving his shins a few whacks with his stick. 

“Not bad, Jonny Hustle,” he says. “Not bad at all.” 

“Hmm, 5 to your 4,” Jonny says easily. 

Oh, them’s fightin’ words, Patrick thinks to himself, with a smile he can’t suppress. Luckily he ties it up with Jonny with a secondary assist on an empty netter that’s never felt sweeter, and he’s including his 2015 point streak. 

When Patrick looks over at Jonny back on the bench, he doesn’t even have to say anything, Jonny just rolls his eye and lets out a huff. Yeah, take it. 

It feels like the old days, riffing, chasing each other to be better. He missed this feeling in his chest. They had it last year for one brief moment, incidentally against the same team, but this year feels like the start of something rather than the slow death by a thousand cuts of last year. and when Bur extends his regular after-game drink invitation in an emoji-laden group text, Patrick says ‘ah fuck it,’ and decides to say yes. He wants to bask in this moment a little longer. 

He can’t help smiling down at his phone when Jonny’s own acquiescence comes through a moment later. He knows it won’t be a wild night, no matter how much Bur wishes, because they’re all fucking old now, and Seabsie, Duncs, and Sharpy have kids to go home to. 

Thankfully the lounge Bur chooses is quiet with a backroom they commandeer. Jonny shows up last, sliding in next to Patrick in the booth. He smells good, a mellow cologne that Patrick’s come to recognize as intrinsic to Jonny. 

Jonny takes a sip from Duncs’ beer and then pulls a face that makes them all laugh. “God, I hate sours.” 

“They taste like kombucha,” Duncs protests. 

“You know, I’m not sold on that, did you see there’s a new systematic review—” Jonny starts.

Patrick quickly shoves his own beer in front of him to cut him off. “Oh no, we’re not doing this,” he says to Sharpy and Bur’s laughter. “Have some of that.” 

Jonny gamely takes a swallow, swilling it around in his mouth for a second. “This tastes like Bud,” he says, unimpressed. 

“It _is_ Bud,” Patrick replies, knocking him with his shoulder. 

It’s Bur, not Jonny, that snorts and says, “Plebe!” 

“Yeah, whatever, mine was six bucks to your nasty eleven dollar trippel,” Patrick replies, saluting him with the glass. 

“You’re so cheap,” Sharpy teases while Jonny flags down a waitress and, predictably, orders a single glass of red wine.

“Sure,” Patrick says, tugging ostentatiously at the cuffs of his tailored Canali suit. It’s the beginning of an age old argument on him not being adventurous or elevated or whatever. “Why the hell would I spend twice as much on something I’m not going to like?” 

Jonny laughs and wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him in. “No reason, no reason at all, Peeks, you know what you want, that’s great,” he says before letting him go. 

Something about the intimate way he says it, no longer holding him, but body still pressed in close catches at a thread on Patrick’s mind. You would have to be a complete idiot and/or dead not to notice what a tactile person Jonny is—all the back slaps and hugs and congratulatory shoulder grabs, but also the subtler things like staying in close, a reassuring hand at the small of the back, not carefully moving his thigh away when their knees touch on the plane. Patrick’s been the recipient of a lot of it over the years. Jonny’s pretty much the only person on the planet he’d tolerate so far into his space. He’s managed to refrain from returning it it to mixed success, because Patrick is not a toucher, and he’s always known that being different with Jonny gets noticed, albeit passed over as two extraordinarily close teammates. But tonight, after that win and the way it happened, it’s hard to hold himself back. 

When Jonny’s phone buzzes and he absently reaches in to the right inner pocket to pluck it out, the knuckles of his right hand inadvertently brushing against the back of Patrick’s under the table, he loses the battle. Without even thinking, he turns his hand just enough to stroke his fingertips over Jonny’s. It’s a fleeting thing, it could be ignored. It doesn’t even seem like Jonny noticed, and Patrick’s okay with that. It was just a moment. He can pack the impulse back up again again. He's good at that.

Jonny lifts that same hand to take a sip from his wine glass, blissfully unaware, and listening raptly to some story Bur is telling that Patrick has started to tune out. But when Jonny drops his hand down again, he lets it rest loose-fingered and open palmed on Patrick’s thigh in a way that makes him start. That’s a lot, even for Jonny, and it could be nothing, it really could, he knows that, but it could also be an invitation. 

Patrick laces their fingers together, and gets his answer when Jonny clasps his hand in a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t let go. 

Patrick’s adrenaline starts racing. He’s three months past 30 and he can’t believe he’s getting so worked up about simply holding hands. He clears his throat and takes a long swallow of his beer. 

“Look at you, all flushed off of half a beer,” Seabs observes, “you really have become a lightweight.” 

All of his thoughts are centered under the table to their pressed palms, and what exactly it means. A good comeback eludes him. He’s still struggling with something to say when his own suit jacket starts buzzing. He almost considers letting it ring just because he’s not sure what happens after he pulls his hand away, but he knows that would be fucking weird, so he slowly untwists their fingers so he can grab it and dismiss the call. 

There are four people on earth who he never ignores when they call him, one is sitting next to him being wonderful, and terrifying and confusing, and yet another is currently calling him. He sighs, and answers the call. 

“Hey, Erica, what’s up?” 

_"Oh hi, Pat, mom just wanted me to call to see if you had all the tickets ready for when you come home next month.”_

“Yeah,” he says, opening his mouth to say his dad has all the info when Jonny rotates his hand to stroke over Patrick’s knee. All he gets out is “Um,” as Jonny starts drawing smooth circles over his trousers. Jonny’s not even looking at him, he’s talking about that stupid kombucha thing with Duncs, and Patrick doesn’t know if he’s being petted the way one pets a dog, or if Jonny’s trying to do something here. 

_"You did get the tickets, right?"_ Erica says into his ear, sounding concerned. 

“Yeah, no no, ask dad, I just—” he cuts himself off as Jonny fingers dip down toward the inside of his leg, smoothing slowly along his inseam, higher and higher until he’s halfway up Patrick’s inner thigh. He considers closing his legs or shrugging off Jonny’s hand so that he can think while he’s trying to have a conversation with his sister, but he doesn’t do any of it, just blinks desperately as he tracks the measured torturous progress up the sensitive inside of his thigh. Jonny’s hand is now bare centimeters from his dick, and somewhere in the last few moments Patrick’s body decided to betray him with a boner that Jonny absolutely cannot fail to miss. 

_"Is everything alright? You sound a little—"_

Patrick doesn’t hear what he sounds like when Jonny’s thumb smooths over the swelled head of his dick, where it’s trapped against his thigh. He looks urgently at Jonny, who’s got his chin propped on one fist, listening to Duncs wax rhapsodic about microbiomes, but now has a flush of his own across the bridge of his nose. He’s barely had a sip of his wine, so Patrick strongly doubts he’s drunk either. He’s—He’s—He’s getting off on touching Patrick under the table. Patrick swallows. 

_"Pat, you’re not drinking are you?"_ Erica asks urgently. 

Fuck, Patrick thinks, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to pull together some focus, because he’s an adult male who should be able to handle a little contact on his dick without falling apart like Jason Biggs in American Pie, and/or also making his family worry about his somewhat disordered relationship with alcohol. 

“No, I’m fine, I’m just out with friends, dad has all the info. Tell mom to ask him.” 

_"Okay, great, sorry, just, you know—wanted to make sure. Are you doing okay otherwise?"_

“Uh, yup, fine,” he says, heart pounding hard in his chest. He’s sweltering inside his suit. “But, sorry, can I call you back and we’ll talk then?”

Erica laughs. _"Yeah, yeah, I get it, go have fun with Jonny."_

Patrick somehow murmurs out a goodbye, trying not to dwell on how she just _knows_ , and hangs up, somehow without combusting into flame right here at this table just because Jonny is touching him with clear intent. He looks up and is relieved to find Bur flirting with the waitress while Seabs and Sharpy are having a good natured argument about Game of Thrones. Nobody witnessed that poor showing. He shoots out a quick text to Jonny and then leans back in his seat, trying to give his cock more room in his pants. 

Jonny’s phone chimes with his incoming message and thankfully he thumbs it open and reads it. 

He finally takes his hand off Kaner’s cock to take a deep swallow of his wine, tucking his phone back into his pocket and officiously straightening out the shoulders of his suit jacket. 

“I just caught sight of the time, boys,” Jonny says after he drains the glass, climbing to his feet. “I need to head home” 

Patrick waits a beat and then fakes a yawn. “I think that beer actually did go to my head, so I should probably head out too.” 

“Split an Uber?” Jonny asks. 

“Yup!” 

“Aww the widdle kids have to go to bed,” Bur says. Like it hasn’t been twelve years since the first time he ever said that to Jonny. 

“Ah, fuck off,” Jonny says but it’s good natured. He slaps Seabs and Duncs on the back and then bends to give both Sharpy and Bur a quick hug, because they see them less, and Patrick does the same, holding his coat strategically in front of his groin. 

They spill out into the cold night air, street quiet but for the occasional car. 

Jonny turns toward him and they’re in each other’s space again, Patrick blinking up into Jonny’s eyes. “You want me to call it?” 

Jonny interrupts him with a sharp nod and reaches out, fingering the knot in his tie before running under the silk to stroke along his collar. “Your place,” he says, answering Kaner’s earlier question. “We’re closer.”

*

The Uber is interminable, with Patrick marveling at Jonny’s ability to get anybody to start talking about themselves, and then the elevator ride to Patrick’s apartment that follows is made deeply awkward when an older man gets on with a woman in a skimpy cocktail dress young enough to be his daughter. Mercifully Patrick and Jonny get off before they do, just as containing their laughter is getting too difficult. 

“Okay, real talk, paid escort or actual date?” Patrick asks as he’s unlocking his door. 

“If that isn’t a sugar daddy situation, I don’t even know. I used to see shit like that in my old building, girls heading up to the Penthouse kitted out like they’re going to the Oscars or something.” Jonny says following him inside. “I’ve always sworn to myself that that’s not going to be me.”

“Paying for it?” Patrick asks after he has a brief hilarious image in his head of Jonny shoved into an evening gown. 

“Mmm,” Jonny says as he strips off his coat and hands it to Patrick to hang up, “It’s bad enough that you always have to wonder if somebody’s just trying to get in your pants because of the fame and the money. I couldn’t imagine being so hard up you had to straight up pay for it.” 

“I imagine it’s about power more than access,” Patrick tells him, “being able to tell somebody to do exactly what you want, knowing exactly what you’re getting.” 

Jonny steps in close, dark eyes intent, and all of a sudden all of the heat that was between them in that bar, is back. “Is that what you want? Me to do exactly what you want?” 

Patrick lets out a soft laugh. “No I want—” for you to love me, he doesn’t say. “I want you to be you.” 

Jonny looks strangely vulnerable, like he wasn’t the one brazen enough to get something started in a semi-public place with their friends all sitting around the table. The thing is, he realizes, there’s no plausible deniability. They’ve known each other for half their lives and they can’t say they just got drunk one night and did something stupid. They’re both sober, which is frankly anomalous for how Patrick usually makes these decisions. Also it probably wouldn’t be so nerve wracking if he didn’t care so much about Jonny’s opinion. 

Patrick laughs despite himself. “Wow, god.” 

“What?” Jonny asks. 

“I keep trying to think of what to do next and I realized, usually when I go home with somebody—it’s after four ill-advised drinks.” 

“Musta been a while then,” Jonny says, eyes going soft, tone free of judgment. 

“It’s been a minute, yeah,” Patrick admits freely, finally shrugging off his suit jacket and undoing the cuffs on his shirt. In point of fact, a year and three months. He broke up with Cara just after last Halloween and there hasn’t been anybody since. He’d like to tell himself that it’s because last season was hell, and cost too much mental energy to start dating, but the reality is that he sleep walked through that relationship with Cara too and he knows damn well why even if he wishes he didn’t. He shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t do this, not when he has real feelings for Jonny, but he’s gonna give himself this tonight. “Can I—uh, get you something to drink? There’s water and Gatorade in the fridge, and probably that wine you brought the last time you came over.”

Jonny snorts. “Peeks, it’s me, I’m not—” he pauses like he’s struggling for the right word. 

Patrick turns his head and Jonny’s right there, at his shoulder, and the perfect symmetry of Jonny being right where he needs him in this moment makes his chest feel tight. 

“C’mere,” Patrick says, lifting his chin so that he can press a kiss to Jonny’s mouth. He’s seen Jonny do this with chicks in bars, drunk as fuck, enthusiastic and consumed—obviously not recently, but during their formative years, back when he mostly couldn’t believe anybody would go home with Jonny at all. If only his younger self could see him now. It’s strange to think about in this moment as Jonny cups his chin with both hands and lays an absolute scorcher of a kiss on him. 

“I—uh—” Jonny breathes when he pulls back like he’s the one who’s dazed, “wow, bedroom?” 

“No, just a little more,” Patrick replies pulling him down for another one like the addict he so clearly is. 

Somehow they stumble into Patrick’s bedroom and go tumbling down to the carpet, and Patrick doesn’t even care how they end up on the floor because Jonny’s erection is hot against his thigh, and his hands are at Patrick’s belt. And if Patrick’s too into this, he isn’t the only one. 

Which is why it feels like a giant record scratch when Jonny pauses and lifts his head, looking at the ground in horror like they’re making out on top of a crime scene. 

“What?” Patrick asks, turning his cheek to see what Jonny’s looking at. 

“Not the goddamn 88 rug, Kaner,” Jonny cries. 

Patrick bursts out laughing, tucking his face into Jonny’s throat as it shakes through of him. 

“Plenty of people have had a great time on this rug,” he points out through chuckles. 

Jonny scoffs. “You mean you and your hand lotion?” 

“What, you think I climb out of bed, lie down on my sacred rug, and jerk it here?” Patrick asks and then he catches the look on Jonny’s face, sort of guiltily intrigued. He grins, putting his hands up behind his head. “Oh man, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You think it’s hot.” 

“Your sacred rug,” Jonny repeats, dropping his forehead to Patrick’s shoulder. “God help me.” 

“Hey, Jonny, hey,” Patrick whispers into his ear, before giving it a little nip, “I’ll jerk you off on this rug if you really, really want.” 

Jonny shifts and kisses him again, before pulling up to look down at him, lips tilted in a smirk, his cheeks flushed and his hair disheveled frm Patrick’s fingers. “I think, right now, you’d jerk me off anywhere I asked you to.” 

“Then strip,” Patrick replies, “and we’ll find out.” 

Fifteen minutes later, sprawled out on the bed with Jonny’s legs tangled with his, they still don’t have an answer. Kaner’s shirt is still hanging open on his shoulders, and Jonny’s down to his underwear, but they lost the plot somewhere between Jonny losing his pants and Patrick finally taking his tie off. He considers himself entirely lost in Jonny’s kiss, barely able to hold it together, especially with the way Jonny’s started rocking their hips together. 

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Jonny interrupts, tearing his mouth away. He tugs gently at the waistband of Patrick’s briefs until Patrick gets the picture that Jonny wants them off. He says, “I wanna finish when I started.” 

“Lemme just—” Patrick struggles to work himself out of the damn dress shirt. It’s tangled somehow around his left elbow and he can’t extricate himself. 

“Careful, you don’t want to rip it,” Jonny says with a laugh. 

“This shirt is clearly spawn of satan and deserves to be ripped,” Patrick growls, just as he finally shakes himself out of it. “And yes, yes, I know wasting fabric is bad for the env—” 

“Shh,” Jonny interrupts, pushing him flat to the bed. “You’re careful with your things, Peeks, and you’d regret it later if you destroyed it.” 

“Dunno,” Patrick replies, looking up at him, “depends on how good this orgasm you’re going to give me is.” 

Jonny rolls his eyes but it’s fond. He leans over to tuck himself at Patrick’s side, reaching down to take his cock in hand. Patrick hisses when Jonny gives him a firm stroke from base to tip, and rubs the pre-come pearling at the slit around the glans with the pad of his thumb.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes, involuntarily lifting his hips. There’s something about Jonny wrapped around him like this, rippling muscle covered in that babysoft skin that always runs a degree or two hotter than his, pressing kisses against the sensitive skin of Patrick’s throat, as Jonny fists him just like he would do for himself. He’s seen that strong sure hand wrap tape around a stick blade countless times, and there’s something surreal about seeing those fingers wrapped around him now. 

“Was thinking about this all night,” Jonny murmurs against his ear. “God your cock is gorgeous.” 

A shiver goes through Patrick’s belly. He bites his lip and asks, “Can you, uh—” but before he can even finish the thought Jonny’s hand is dipping down to cup his balls, tugging on them gently, fingers sliding over the seam in a way that makes Patrick turn his face into Jonny’s shoulder. Initial awkwardness aside, it’s blowing Patrick’s mind that Jonny keeps correctly intuiting what he wants. 

“Jonny,” he whispers, because he can’t help himself, and then Jonny is there, kissing him and teasing him with his hand at the same time. 

Another spurt of pre-come jets out of his cock and Jonny pulls his mouth away to look down at his hand, moving now through the mess. “You’re so wet, I was gonna ask if you needed something, but…” 

Patrick chuckles breathlessly. “Not...usually...like this.” 

Something about that has Jonny groaning and rolling more of his weight down on top of him, hand speeding up on his dick, rocking his fabric-covered cock against Patrick’s thigh. Patrick rolls onto his side and reaches down between them, shoving Jonny’s underwear down to get his own fist wrapped around Jonny’s dick. 

“No, don’t,” Jonny protests, “not gonna be able to think if you do that.” 

“Who the fuck cares,” Patrick answers, starting to tug Jonny off in earnest. 

It’s ungainly, the two of them with their arms working between them, but Patrick doesn’t give a fuck. This mutual jerk-fest is some of the best sex he’s ever had. And he knows it could be because Jonny is a guy and actually knows how to handle the equipment, but he suspects it’s this thing they’ve always had, an uncanny awareness of each other that extends to all aspects of their life.

“Ah fuck,” he says, furrowing his brow and speeding his hand up on Jonny’s dick, because he’s close and he wants Jonny to be right there with him. 

“Peeks, Peeks,” Jonny murmurs and then he’s coming with a groan that sounds almost dragged out of him, and somehow he manages to keep stroking Patrick through all of it until he’s there himself, exhaling on a sharp breath, and spilling a load that would embarrass him if Jonny even gave him time to think before pushing him back flat on the bed and kissing him like he needs it to breathe, sweat and jizz smeared all over them. 

“Oh god, that felt good,” Jonny breathes at long last, lifting is head and rolling flat onto his back with a pleased sigh. 

Patrick blinks hazily over at him, dumbstruck, but unable to look away from Jonny’s kiss swollen lips and the abraded cheeks he got from Patrick’s stubble. 

“Ugh, need to clean up,” Patrick says and drags himself from the bed with a groan. He scoops his underwear off the floor and uses it to wipe the come off his belly and thighs before going into the en suite to wash his hands and scrub off the rest of the mess with a washcloth. He catches sight of his expression in the mirror, a soft smile he doesn’t recognize on his own face that he can’t seem to stop making. Shit, he’s happy. Right here in this moment, it’s the happiest he can recall being in a long, long time. He doesn’t know how he’s going to feel as soon as he walks out of this bathroom. That depends on Jonny, who hopefully isn’t hastily putting on his clothes and running out the door while Patrick is distracted. He splashes water on his face and takes a breath. He can do this. 

“Hey, man, do you—” he calls as he’s walking out of the bathroom before stopping up short when he realizes that Jonny’s fast asleep in the middle of the bed, covers pulled up to his waist and arm thrown across his face. Patrick couldn’t have been more than five minutes in the bathroom and yet there Jonny is, chest rising and falling with the rhythmic motion of sleep. Patrick chuckles and flicks out the light, carefully climbing under the covers next to him. 

*

He blinks his eyes open the next morning feeling better rested than he has in days. He’s found the perfect comfy spot in the bed, and the sunshine filtering in the window feels gentle rather than blinding. He could laze here for a bit, he thinks, and then he spots the clock on his nightstand. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says, bolting upright in bed. 

“Hmm?” 

Patrick startles and looks over his shoulder to find Jonny yawning and blearily rubbing his eyes. 

Yesterday comes rushing back in an instant and he can’t even enjoy it because they have less than 30 minutes to get to practice. 

“We gotta go,” he cries, jumping out of bed to haul on some underwear and then a pair of jeans folded over the back of a chair. 

“Shit,” Jonny says. 

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick replies, going through his drawers to grab the first shirt he can find.

Jonny shakes his head. “I wore my game day suit over here last night.”

Patrick pauses, staring at him as the implications sink in. “Jesus,” he finally says, rubbing at his jaw. He might have some clothes Jonny can wear, but he doesn’t have any shoes. And there’s no way it won’t look fucking strange for Jonny to walk into that locker room in a suit after bowing out of drinks after one glass of wine and sharing an Uber with Patrick. 

Jonny covers his face with his hands and groans. “Why didn’t we set an alarm?” 

Patrick slides his watch over his wrist. “Fuck, we can stop at yours. At least you’re on the way.” 

Jonny climbs out of bed, hastily pulling on his now wrinkled suit. “Just drop me off, better for you to make it if you still can.” 

“No, man, I’ll wait outside, you can run up and then we can leave from there.” 

Jonny shakes his head again as he buttons up his shirt. “It’ll look less incriminating if we don’t arrive late together. You’re never late, Kaner.” 

“Except apparently for today,” Patrick moans. “Okay, whatever, I’ll leave you. 

It’s only later when he’s speeding over to MB Ice, eyes on the clock on the dash, that he realizes they never spoke at all about what happened and he has no idea when they’ll get another chance. 

*

As it turns out, no chance at all. Or perhaps it could be better stated that Patrick doesn’t bother to follow up when Jonny doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure he wants to know. By the time he’s on a plane headed to San Jose for the All Star Game he’s settled into the notion that they’re probably not going to. Unfortunately that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it constantly. He slept poorly the entire week, finally giving in and relying on Benadryl to knock him out so that he’s not exhausted. Ordinarily he’d look forward to their bye week, but this year it feels like it’s coming at the worst possible moment, giving him time and space to dwell that he really doesn’t need.

He decides to head to Buffalo ahead of the game just so he can distract himself catching up with friends and family. 

When he arrives at KeyBank for morning skate the day of the game, he feels like he’s mostly got himself under control, but then he sees Jonny and it all goes out the window again. It’s just that Jonny looks so good, rested and tanned from his quick trip down to Arizona to get some sun and resonate with the crystals in Sedona or whatever. Jonny smiles when he sees him, but it’s unsure, and that makes Patrick feel even worse. And yet he still can’t bring himself to regret it. They got to have that game and that night afterwards and if that stupid mutual handjob winds up being the best sex of his life, well at least he can say he had that. 

He’s always been good at channeling his emotions into his play and turning a garbage situation into a good one, and when he scores his 30th goal of the season and hits his 900th point in the same go it’s no different. Hockey Patrick can do, but emotions? Relationships? Those are the real tricky questions. Thankfully the team seems along with him for the ride and they deliver another drubbing worthy of playing in his hometown. 

Patrick forgets himself for a minute after he scores his second goal of the game and chirps Jonny for only having one point to his four, and the grin Jonny aims his way like he doesn’t even care nearly knocks Patrick off his skates. 

“Good for you, Peeks,” Jonny says and nudges him in that old familiar way. A horrible yet beautiful warmth surges in his gut, and Patrick has to drop his eyes. 

After the game he has to say a quick goodbye to the family and friends who came out to support him, because they’re flying straight to St. Paul from here. 

“Hmm,” his friend Mike says after giving Patrick a backslapping farewell hug, “looks like that win put a little life back into you.” 

“What?” 

Mike shrugs. “Not gonna lie, I was a little worried the past couple of days. You didn’t seem like yourself.” 

“Nah, man, I’m fine,” Patrick protests, although inside he’s wincing. He hadn’t realized he’d been so bad that other people had noticed. 

“Well, you are now,” Mike says. “Anyway, get going, you don’t want to miss your flight.” 

Patrick sketches out a salute and then gives his mom, dad, and sisters one last hug before heading for the bus. Time to face the music, he thinks, figure out what’s what, because as much as he loves winning, and they all know he does, he knows the real reason he perked up, and it’s got Captain Lame’s name all over it. Jonny’s sitting with Goose when he gets on the bus, but he tosses something to Patrick that he instinctively catches. 

Patrick looks down at the Power Bar Jonny tossed to him because he missed getting any food in the rush to see his family and he knows then that he’s fucking gone. He can’t keep pretending nothing happened that night. It’s time to face the music. 

*

Of course when they make it to the St. Paul Hotel at nearly 2 AM, all his plans for having a measured conversation go out the window. He and Jonny are on their own floor one story up over the rest of the team, and he means to suck it up and ask Jonny if they can have a conversation. But Jonny smiles at him as they get off the elevator and he winds up tossing his suitcase aside, grabbing Jonny’s lapels and planting one on him. 

Jonny kisses back, slow and sweet, his arms going around Patrick’s waist for a heady delirious moment before he pulls back and looks meaningfully to the security camera overhead. Well fuck. 

Patrick clears his throat and pulls on his lapels to straight his jacket. “God, sorry, I don’t know where my head is at.” 

“I’m into it,” Jonny says with that devastating little quirk of a grin as he helps him right his suitcase. “I’m gonna change and get settled, but keep your door open for me?” 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Patrick says, because when does he not, but he likes the way Jonny grins and bumps their shoulders together. 

When Jonny walks in through the connecting door about twenty minutes later in just his briefs, Patrick’s already in bed, reading on his phone. He certainly appreciates Jonny’s lack of clothes, but he also knows after years and years not to see it as a sign of anything. 

“So…” he says, tossing his phone aside and sitting up in bed. 

Jonny settles down by his hip. He worries at his lower lip for a second and then says, “So I’ve been trying to come up with what to say so I don’t fuck this up for the past two weeks and all I can say is this isn’t casual for me. It’s sort of…” 

“Awkward?” Patrick offers. 

“I was gonna say ‘a big deal,’” Jonny replies, “I’ve been sending out signals for years, and you’ve never done anything so I just—”

Patrick holds up his hands. “Hang on, sending out signals? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Jesus, Peeks, what’d you think all the touching meant?” 

“All the—are you kidding? You’re like that with everybody,” Patrick protests.

Jonny sputters into a laugh. “No I’m—not,” he says, before pressing another searing kiss on Patrick. He whispers against Patrick’s lips, “I’ve got the video to prove it.” 

“Those are times of high emotion or whatever, I wasn’t gonna read shit into it that wasn’t there!” Patrick cries. 

“But it was there, dumbass,” Jonny replies with a fond smile. 

“Whatever, you didn’t notice I was into you either, genius,” Patrick replies, poking Jonny in the chest. 

Jonny lets out a dramatic put-upon sigh. “Right, okay, fine. In case I wasn’t clear,” he gives Patrick a dark look, “I want to be with you. I want to wake up next to you, I want to fuck you—”

Patrick cuts him off with another kiss. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, no need to blow your load,” he teases, but his own cheeks are red, flushed from the praise. 

Jonny rolls his eyes and runs his fingers over Patrick’s lower lip. “Don’t pretend you’re not into hearing it.” 

Patrick flushes even darker, a low-grade buzz of arousal running through his system. He drops his eyes. If he were younger he’d probably start something now, but it’s late, he hasn’t slept well in days, and they’ve got a game tomorrow. “Wanna sleep here?” he offers, pulling back the covers. 

“I’d like that,” Jonny says, sliding in beside him when Patrick moves over.

“We can talk about who’d fuck who, later,” Patrick says as he reaches over to turn off the light. 

Jonny snorts, even as he wraps an arm around Patrick’s waist and pulls him in close. He asks, dryly, “What, you want to make it a competition?” 

“Why not?” Patrick shoots back. He hums confidently and says, “Whoever gets most points tomorrow gets to pitch.” 

Jonny replies, voice going drowsy, “Okay, ace.” 

*

“You,” Jonny points out when they land at O'hare, “made a miscalculation.” 

Jonny edged him by one point tonight with a secondary assist on Goose’s OT goal. 

“That barely counts,” Patrick argues as they make their way to their cars. 

“Hmm, I believe I also scored a goal, and all you got was one measly assist,” Jonny points out loftily. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Patrick grumbles. “Best of three?” 

“Oh no, you set the rules, now you’ve gotta play by them,” Jonny replies. “You wanna come to my place tonight?” 

They drove separately to the airport. “Yeah okay, lemme just drop off my stuff. Meet you there in an hour?”

Jonny nods and grins, opening his car door. “Show up ready to pay up.” 

Patrick groans, not acknowledging the intrigued excitement in his own stomach. 

When he shows up at Jonny’s condo mercifully dressed down with an overnight bag so they don’t have a repeat of last time’s harrowing walk of shame. Jonny lets him in with a smile and a kiss. And that simple thing, the indelible proof that he’s not in this alone, makes him feel so fucking good, they could end the night right there. Although he hopes they won’t be. 

“We don’t have to, you know,” Jonny says apropos of nothing when Patrick sets his bag down. “Or, I could...you don’t have to just because of a stupid bet.” 

Patrick crosses his arms. 

“Honest, we don’t ever have to do anything,” Jonny says earnestly, looking so concerned. “I’m not trying to pressure you.”

Patrick smirks and shakes his head. “Jonny, I’ve thought about being with you for a long time, I know what men do in bed together, I’ve had a while to get used to the idea.” 

“Well, yeah, okay, but it’s not expected or anything.” 

“Maybe I want to,” Patrick says, going to the open plan kitchen and helping himself to a glass of water. 

“You want to,” Jonny repeats dumbly. 

Patrick shrugs. “Yeah, I’m into the idea.” 

“Maybe we should start small then, and—” 

“I’m good, tonight is fine,” Patrick interrupts, internally amused at how muddled Jonny seems just from the thought. 

“Patrick, I don’t know what you’ve done, but I think going the whole nine yards is different from a finger or two while you’re getting blown.” 

“Yeah, I know, but it’s hot and I want to try it,” Patrick says with a shrug. “If chicks can do it, I can do it...” 

“You—” Jonny pauses, blinking at him. “This is not how I expected this encounter to go.” 

Patrick barks out a laugh. “I can see that. You look like you’ve blown a few circuits.” 

Jonny smiles and boxes him against the counter. “It’s a lot, Peeks.” 

*

Half an hour later, as Jonny is pushing inside him, Patrick is regretting his ‘how bad could it be?’ attitude, because it _hurts_. Not in a way he can’t handle, but in a way that makes it less sexy for him. He’d like to focus on how hot Jonny looks, braced above him, eyes focused and lips parted, but mostly he’s feeling like an idiot for thinking this was a good idea. Jonny’s dick hadn’t seemed so big earlier, and now it feels massive. 

“You okay?” Jonny asks when Patrick’s unable to keep the struggle off his face. 

“Hah,” Patrick breathes, “I uh—may have gotten a bit ahead of myself?” 

Jonny looks a little like he wants to laugh, but luckily does not say, ‘I told you so,’ as he so clearly wants to. “We can stop,” he says. 

“No, I’m committed now,” Patrick replies. 

“Wow, that’s so hot,” Jonny replies dryly, shifting over him. 

“You better be enjoying this,” Patrick growls. 

Jonny kisses his face and down his throat. “It feels very nice,” he says soothingly. 

“Nice?” Patrick demands, outraged. 

“Mmmhm,” Jonny replies. He slides in a little deeper and then just stops. 

Patrick glares at him. “What are you doing?” 

“Waiting you out,” Jonny replies, easily. 

“You are such—” Patrick doesn’t get to finish that thought because Jonny gets his tongue into his mouth, kissing Patrick like a dare. Patrick breathes out through his nose, and then Jonny’s sliding a little deeper, until he’s snugged up real tight on his prostate. 

“Are you gonna do anything?” Patrick finally asks, squirming a little. The pressure on the gland is gentle but insistent and Patrick’s starting to feel it. 

“I’m chill to hang here,” Jonny says, infuriatingly calm. 

“Ugh,” Patrick says with a groan. But he’s relaxing into it to despite himself and then Jonny’s kissing him again to distract him further. Patrick’s decided he really likes kissing Jonny. 

Jonny screws his hips in a little tighter, just enough to keep Patrick’s awareness centered on his prostate, rather than the incredible stretch on his hole. But Jonny isn’t moving so Patrick finds him hitching his own hips minutely to try and get more of it. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Jonny says, the first crack in his serene facade. 

“How about neither of us dies,” Patrick breathes, “and you just fucking fuck me already?” 

Jonny exhales, and then looking down between their bodies, to where Patrick’s pinned on his cock, pulls back and then sinuously thrusts back in. 

The sensation blazes through his mind, lighting up the backs of his eyes and forcing an eloquent, “Unh,” out of his mouth as Jonny does it again. Patrick widens his thighs and arches into it, muscles gone tense and trembling from the overwhelming feeling. “Feels good.” 

Jonny shifts his arms on the pillow by Patrick’s head, narrowing the distance between them. “For me too,” he says. 

Each time Jonny buries his cock inside him, it makes his cock bounce and tap back against his own belly, a trail of precome pooling there. Patrick swipes his fingers through it and swipes it over the head of his cock and down the shaft, starting up a rhythm that’s near frantic. 

“Oh god,” he says helplessly, because with Jonny’s cock inside him it feels like a full on assault on a part of his body he’s only ever casually played with. Belly swooping, he digs his head back into the pillow, trying to brace himself against the orgasm building in his gut. “Jon, I’m close—” 

“Yeah, Peeks, tell me,” Jonny says. “What do you need?” 

“Just don’t stop,” Patrick breathes, every part of his body focused on Jonny’s girthy cock hitting that place inside him over and over, until everything inside him goes taut and he’s exploding over his fist with a cry that would embarrass him if he was in his right mind. 

Jonny stills above him, eyes screwed up shut tight. “Christ, I can feel you coming.” 

Patrick, shaking, still working the last jets of come out of his cock, can only moan. And Jonny’s so good above him, practically vibrating between Patrick’s thigh with the effort of staying still. 

“You can move,” Patrick finally whispers. 

Jonny presses up onto his palms and then pulls out in another smooth measured move to sit back on his heels, but his hands betray his urgency when he strips the condom off and starts stroking himself. Patrick stares at his hand moving up and down, the sudden thought piercing his post-orgasm lassitude that he wants to get his mouth on it.

Without really thinking, he sits up and shoves Jonny flat to the bed. 

“Wha—ooph!” Jonny says as his back hits the mattress, but it turns into a strangled “Oh my god” when Patrick closes his lips around the head of his cock. He props himself up on his elbows, staring down at Patrick wide-eyed as Patrick wraps his fist around the shaft and starts to suck. It’s foreign obviously, having a cock in his mouth, but Jonny’s always called him oral aggressive for the way he can’t seem to keep anything out of his mouth, be it pen caps, his glove, the ever-present gum. He thinks about what he likes himself, and applies it with a vigor that’s clearly working for Jonny, because Patrick can see little shivers going through the muscles in his belly. Jonny looks completely stunned, eyes gone hazy and color high across his cheeks and chest. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he tells Patrick, head dropping back on his neck, an expression on his face like he’s been socked in the gut and then sure enough he’s filling up Patrick’s mouth. He keeps his lips sealed tight to the head until he’s wrung the last drop and then he pulls off, debating whether he’s going to swallow. It’s already in his mouth, on his tongue, it’s not like he can miss tasting it if he spits it out now. Decided, he swallows and smirks at the rapt way Jonny’s staring at him, like Patrick’s completely blown his mind. Good, then they can both walk away from this bed, feeling like changed men after that performance. 

“That was—” Jonny starts. 

“I was a little nervous at the beginning there,” Patrick says easily, “but you turned it out, Toews.” 

Jonny drops back flat to the bed with an amused groan. “This is always how it’s gonna be, eh?” 

Patrick rolls onto his back beside him. “Would you want it any other way?” 

“No,” Jonny smiles, catching Patrick’s hand to tangle their fingers together. 

“Good,” Patrick replies, nudging their noses together until Jonny lifts his chin for a kiss. Suddenly he feels very, very lucky. 

*

“Jonny, is there a giant hunk of quartz under the bed?” Patrick asks the next morning. The answer is very clearly yes, he’s staring right at it, just past the shoe he was looking for. 

Jonny comes out of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth, looking sheepish. “Maybe?” he mumbles around the mouthful of toothpaste, before disappearing back into the bathroom. Patrick follows him in there, watching Jonny rinse and spit, his arms crossed expectantly. Jonny sighs. “I just figured it couldn’t hurt, y’know, given last night.” 

Patrick stares at him, before bursting into laughter. “You’re too much.” 

“I mean, I don’t know if it helped, but it couldn’t have hurt? Quartz is a master healer!” 

“God, Jackie was telling me that they’re selling rose quartz dildos these days, should we get you one?” 

Jonny looks at him like he’s crazy. “I don’t want a piece of rock in my ass!” 

“Just under the bed?” 

“Whatever, don’t judge, it was a big deal,” he grumbles, turning away to dry his hands. 

It was big deal, Patrick still has the lingering soreness in his ass to prove it. Patrick hugs Jonny from behind, raising up on the balls of his feet to tuck his chin on his shoulder. “I think when you fucked my ass last night, and I came harder than I ever have in my life, that was all you.” 

He spies Jonny blushing in the mirror and grins. 

“You did some good work too,” Jonny replies, and just as Patrick is about to tell him he knows, Jonny says, “Must’ve been the crystal.” 

Patrick pinches him on the ass. 

*

They’ve finally hit their stride as a team, and the wins keep coming. Patrick secretly suspects it’s partially because they’ve hooked up. Their entire energy has changed and every time they mess around, Jonny is out like a light afterwards. He says he’s better rested than he has been in years. Alex and Dylan have really come along nicely also. Even before the all star break, it was pretty obvious they had good chemistry, but since then they’ve really proved their ability to be a difference maker for them. 

They’re over at Jonny’s place after trouncing the Devils, having a quiet Valentines Day in with Indian take out and a movie . Patrick doesn’t actually care about the holiday, but he still enjoyed sending Jonny a planter with a monstera palm, philodendron, sansevieria, and pothos, because he despairs of cut flowers. Jonny had thanked him with an incredible blowjob in the shower that Patrick swears he can still feel. 

When he points out how great everything is while credits are rolling, Jonny looks so serious, that for a second he starts to worry, but then Jonny says, “My therapist thinks you’re really good for me.” 

“Oh yeah?” Patrick replies, nudging his shoulder. 

“Mmhm,” Jonny says as he reaches out to strokes his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “It’s a nice change, because usually she’s telling me every romantic relationship I enter into is toxic as hell.” 

Patrick snorts. “Yeah, I wasn’t exactly batting a thousand before this either.” 

“That first time, when you said it had been a while, how long?” Jonny asks. 

Patrick laughs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Almost a year and a half.” 

“I hadn’t in a while, either,” Jonny says and shrugs. “When you know what you want it gets increasingly hard to settle for something less.” 

Patrick feels a moment of sadness for the time they wasted, but he’s also not sure this could’ve happened earlier in his life. He loved Jonny, but he’d been in no shape to be in a relationship with him for a long time. It would’ve been a horrible shame to have started something with him, only for it to fall apart because Patrick was a mess. 

“What can I say, Vitamin Kaner,” Patrick jokes, “better than Prozac.” 

Jonny shakes his head, feigning annoyance. He says, “Do you know though, it’s easier to be captain this year. Last year I thought I was gonna fucking drown.” 

Patrick cocks his head in askance. He’s obviously noticed it’s been better in the locker room, even through their horrible losing streak in the first part of the season, but he wants to know why Jonny feels that is. 

“It sounds bad, but I feel like this group isn’t so needy,” Jonny says. “And part of that is that Jeremy is assuming a big part of the emotional burden, rather than relying on me to do it, but the other is that everybody feels happy to be here. Kuny and Wardo are always in a good mood, Dom, Perls, and Jules are happy as clams just to be in Chicago. And Dylan and Cat can take care of themselves.” 

Patrick nods. “It just feels steadier.” 

“Yeah, this is a good group,” Jonny says. “It really feels like a team rather than a bunch of spare parts that don’t fit together.”

Patrick nods and agrees. He isn’t going to jinx it, but he feels like next year? Next year they could win it all. 

*

They’re in Detroit, heading back to their hotel for a nap before their game tonight, when Jonny realizes he doesn’t have his room key yet again. 

“Shit, did we leave the door unlocked between our rooms?” he asks. 

Patrick nods. “Pretty sure. I didn’t relock it when I went to get dressed this morning. Want me to let you in?” 

Jonny nods and then says meaningfully, “And then maybe…” 

Patrick smiles. Of course Jonny’s the sort of freak who doesn’t mind having sex on game days, works out for Patrick just fine, because he’s a firm believer that orgasms improve everything. 

He lets them both into his room and then goes for the connecting door. Sure enough, unlocked. He’s been doing this for years now. He holds the door open with a flourish. “How do you always manage to misplace your key.” 

Jonny snorts. “I didn’t ‘misplace’ it, I suspect I’m getting pranked at some point. By The Cat and Stromer probably.”

“You don’t have to let them, y’know,” Patrick points out, amused. Jonny’s views on taking one for the team are above and beyond. 

Jonny shakes his head with a laugh. “It’s fine. They’ll prank me, I’ll call them up yelling and then get them back, they’ll still be very contrite, and then I’ll buy them breakfast, and they can feel good that they got one over on their captain. It’s team bonding.”

Patrick stares at him. Where was this attitude when he was getting Sharpy and Bur to prank Jonny in their early years. 

“What?” Jonny protests. “It works! If I learned anything from years of Shawzy, it’s best to just lean into it.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and backs him up to the bed, his fingers going for Jonny’s tie. Jonny sits and draws him between his legs, pulling Patrick’s neck down for a kiss. They’re getting pretty into it, when there’s a metallic rattle and then a loud crash. They both look over startled at the closet, as Alex spills out of it with seemingly all of the hangers, and Dylan follows, hot on his heels. 

Patrick stares at them open-mouthed. Speak of the motherfucking devil and he shall appear. Were these clowns in there the whole time? Just hanging out in Jonny’s closet? He has questions. Many, many questions. 

“Um, hi?” Alex says, with big round eyes like he’s trying to look innocent.

“What the fuck?” Patrick asks. He looks them both up and down, eyeing the mess on the floor. He tries to take a stern tone, because anybody this incompetent at pranking Jonny needs a talking to. "This is a really bad prank. If you were trying to scare us, you should leap out and shout 'surprise' not brain yourself with the hangers!"

Jonny falls back onto the bed with a strangled laugh and Patrick has to fight his own. They both look so mortified, Dylan even worse than Alex. Jonny’s garment bag hitting the floor was practically cinematic. 

Alex clears his throat and kicks at the empty bag. “We were...uh...gonna steal your suit? But you got back before we could."

If that was their plan, Patrick will put a quartz crystal under his own bed. Clearly Jonny agrees because he raises amused brows at Patrick, before giving Alex and Dylan a pointed look. “I’m still wearing it.” 

Dylan finally finds his voice, “Yes uh…it was a stupid plan.”

“Mmm,” Patrick replies, wearing his best disapproving face. He really wonders what the hell it actually was. It’s obviously embarrassing since they’re reluctant to say. He can’t even imagine what that would be. Jizzing in Jonny’s shampoo?

He’s about to press, when Alex fidgets and says, “So you’re a thing.” 

Ah there it is. The other shoe hitting the floor. Patrick sighs. Too much to hope they could keep this secret to themselves a little longer. 

“No use putting the cat back in the bag.” Jonny jokes. Patrick, unable to let that horrible joke stand, thumps him. “Ow!” 

He tries to figure out what exactly they should say and then realizes that he can’t have this conversation while he’s half-dressed. He starts buttoning up and tucking his shirt back in, trying to give Jonny a meaningful look to do the same, before he says, “It’s a new thing.” 

Alex looks far too curious when he asks, “How new?” 

He furrows his brows at him. “Uh, January 20th? Give or take? Why?”

Dylan finally straightens up to his full height, looking gobsmacked. “The night we played the Caps? You got together after you had a ten point night? Are you for real?”

His outrage is hilarious, and Jonny, the big softy, starts laughing again, but Patrick plans to milk this mortification for all its worth. Make sure they don’t get any more ideas to try something in their hotel room ever again. He crosses his arms. “Yeah, kid I’m for real.” And then he thinks of something else. “And keep it to yourself, alright? This is one conversation I’m not yet ready to have with Patrick Sharp.”

“Oh god, I will never be ready for that conversation,” Jonny says. 

They’re gonna have to come up with something though, because he highly doubts these two jokers can be counted on to keep their mouths shut. 

Dylan and Alex are still standing there, so Patrick says, “Get out, will you?”

They practically run in their desperation to flee the scene. Hah, still got it. 

Jonny sits up and reminds them to leave his key. After a pause, Alex comes back to lay it on the desk and then turns and shuts the door meekly behind him. 

“Huh,” Patrick says. “What’s the over/under for how long they’ve been fucking?”


End file.
